Reading The Red Book: How C.G. Jung Salvaged His Soul

The recently published and impressive-looking Red Book (2009) tells the personal story of psychiatrist C.G. Jung's insidious descent into what many believe to have been madness, and his eventual triumphant return to the world a transformed man. This alchemical process took almost twenty years, starting shortly after the acrimonious split from Sigmund Freud and the Freudians when Jung was in his late thirties. This loss catalyzed what Jung would come to call a massive "mid-life crisis," in which much of his libidinal energies were withdrawn from the outer world and redirected inwardly to his inner life. Prior to this terrifying and unwelcome journey into the hellish depths, Jung had, as he recalls, accomplished everything he had ever set out to do in the world and had all that he ever wanted: professional success, fame, marriage, children, wealth, prestige, etc. But he unexpectedly came to a critical juncture in his life that forced him to recognize that this was not enough. Some vital part of him had been denied. That in achieving these ego-centered outer accomplishments and material acquisitions in life's first half, he somehow lost touch with his soul. The Red Book is a very personal record of Jung's complicated, tortuous and lengthy quest to salvage his soul, and a first-hand description of a process that would later fundamentally inform Jung's unique approach to psychotherapy he called Analytical Psychology. As Jung (1957) put his life's work in retrospect, "everything later was merely the outer classification, the scientific elaboration, and the integration into life. But the numinous beginning, which contained everything, was then."

Jung's style of writing in the Red Book resembles that of philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche in Thus Spake Zarathustra, a book he had read and obviously been profoundly influenced by. It is basically an inner dialogue with himself, with his unconscious, his complexes, his "demons," his soul, those personal and archetypal aspects of his personality that had been neglected, denied or underdeveloped, and with what he calls the "spirit of the depths." Each of these repressed elements of his psyche manifest in dreams and waking visions as vivid images, many of which Jung--who had studied art and painting as a young man--depicts vibrantly in his journal, leading eventually to the technique of encouraging his patients in analysis to draw or paint images from their own dreams. Jung's therapeutic technique of active imagination stems directly from these sometimes frightening but edfiying and enlightening conversations with himself.

Prominent Jungian analyst and scholar Andrew Samuels noted recently that as the fiftieth anniversary of Jung's death (June 6, 1961) approaches hot on the heels of the controversial publication of his Red Book, there is likely to be renewed speculation regarding Jung's mental state during this time period. For most Jungians, this is an extremely touchy subject. The suggestion by some that Jung suffered a psychotic break after his traumatic break with Freud is furiously disputed, taken as a vicious slur and gross misunderstanding of what actually happened. Jung, they argue, spuriously and naively in my opinion, wasn't psychotic because he consciously and willingly chose to confront the unconscious, deliberately delving into its uncanny depths while, at the same time, always remaining tethered to reality. This is partly true. There is no doubt that during this devastating period in his life, Jung was deeply depressed, and inundated to the point of being overwhelmed at times by these powerfully intrusive images, thoughts and feelings, which, as he put it, "burst forth from the unconscious and flooded me like an enigmatic stream and threatened to break me." And there is also no doubt that this extremely introverted (a necessary compensation for his former excessive extraversion), treacherous state of mind (see my prior post on the dangers of the unconscious) that took almost total hold of Jung affected his reality testing, impaired his psychosocial functioning, caused him to consider suicide, and forced him to withdraw from most of his former worldly activities, with the exception of his family and, oddly enough, his private practice. Indeed, two of the things that likely kept Jung's head above water and feet more or less on the ground during these difficult and disorienting years--other than writing regularly in the Red Book--were his wife and children and daily sessions with troubled patients seeking his psychiatric assistance. As I sometimes tell my students, one of the perks of being a psychotherapist is that spending so much time focusing on helping with other people's problems prevents us from dwelling too much on our own.

It seems probable to me that Jung did experience some so-called psychotic symptoms during these dark days, including hallucinations. But having said that, there is nothing pejorative intended. Indeed, to me, denying the depth of Jung's despair and severe psychic disturbance tends to undercut the power and importance of his monumental achievement: Rather than being defeated by it as are most, Jung stared psychosis in the face, unflinchingly confronted and explored what he found there, and ultimately came out the other side stronger, wiser, and more whole. What he discovered were manifestations of both his personal and collective unconscious. In this sense, he demonstrated by personal example that the enigmatic phenomenon we call "psychosis" is often about being completely inundated or possessed by the personal and archetypal unconscious rather than caused by a genetically predisposed biochemical imbalance or "broken brain," that it has psychological and spiritual significance, meaning and purpose, and that it can potentially be psychotherapeutically treated with the proper skills, commitment and knowledge. C.G. Jung's Red Book begins as a detailed log of one man's personal, lonely nekyia or night sea journey to the underworld and ends with his heroic return to the outer world renewed, much like a latter day Dante, Jonah or Ulysses. This, as he came to understand, is an excellent description of what real psychotherapy is or can be all about.

Dr. Diamond - thank you for your interesting comments on Jung's Red Book and his personal experience with psychosis.

I think Jung's critics - and many of his disciples - miss the point when they endlessly debate the fine points of how he might have been diagnosed during this period. This is about as relevant as debating whether a woman is suffering from distended belly syndrome or hypochrondriasis when she begins having birth pangs. The question has more to do with the short-sightedness of the debaters than to the problem at hand.

As you say, Jung "demonstrated by personal example that the enigmatic phenomenon we call 'psychosis' is often about being completely inundated or possessed by the personal and archetypal unconscious. . . that it has psychological and spiritual significance, meaning and purpose, and that it can potentially be psychotherapeutically treated with the proper skills, commitment and knowledge."

I completely agree with you, except for your last few words, which I think are misleading in that they imply the task of treatment must be handed to a wise therapist, who then treats the patient with "proper skills, commitment and knowledge." This is fine if such a therapist is at hand, but what if there is not? Who healed Jung?

To me, the most important lesson Jung taught is that neither flesh-and-blood therapists nor drugs nor hospitals are essential for recovery from the experience we call psychosis. It may be sufficient just to be able to hope that one is caught up in a process with meaning and purpose, and that one may emerge from it "stronger, wiser, and more whole," as you say. Jung proved this by doing it himself, just as other spiritual pioneers did before him. And his example has made it possible for many others since to do the same.

If you would like to see how a naive young woman, alone in her agony, followed Jung's example and his advice and lived to tell the tale, go to

Thanks for your insightful comments. You are right that Jung was pretty much alone in his existential crisis, and had to, in a sense, be his own analyst. After all, who would he have gone to for therapeutic help? Freud or a Freudian? He had been ostracized, excommunicated, isolated. As I mentioned, both his family and work kept him more or less anchored in reality, but there were times when his disorientation was profound. So yes, he worked himself through this experience and came out the better for it. But it must be remembered that he was a seasoned psychiatrist who had by then treated perhaps hundreds of psychotic patients at the famous Burgholzli Psychiatric Hospital, where he did his residency. So he had much more knowledge and experience than most about the unconscious and psychosis intellectually, which no doubt helped to some extent during his prolonged self-analysis. Even for someone like Jung, however, this was an extremely dangerous state of mind and perilous journey that could have just as easily led to tragedy. (See, for example, my previous post at http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/evil-deeds/201101/can-the-unconscious-be-dangerous-int...). This is why I strongly recommend that anyone going through such an extraordinary subjective experience seek professional help as early as possible. Ultimately, one must do the work oneself, but it can be invaluable to find a wise guide like Dante's Virgil who can helpfully accompany the pilgrim through his or her personal hell.

To me, the tremendous value in recognizing that Jung's experience parallels that known as psychosis in our current culture is that it offers others a mentor,a model and a challenge to current forms of psychiatric care.

I know nothing of Jung's work previous to my own experience. It was actually a web page by Jungian trained psychiatrist, John Weir Perry that set me upon the Jungian path of interpretation. [Ref: The Far Side of Madness: http://www.tygersofwrath.com/psychosis.htm].

I wrote my own experience down as it was occurring [Ref: Story as a Vehicle of Healing:http://thefifthbody.homestead.com/index.html]. Like Jung's and that of many others, it was preceded by a series of events that seriously challenged my sense of self-identity. For me, it was akin to entering and fully engaging an entire other world. I did have a guide in the form of a bearded man who "showed up" and served as my constant companion through that experience. He became my therapist.

Several more years would pass before I would discover that Jung also wrote his own story down.

Had my family not been overwhelmed and uncertain as to how to respond, and had I not lived in an isolated community where psychiatrists were a rarity, I have no doubt that I would have ended up with "professional help". I remain uncertain if it would have helped me. I think it's entirely possible it, instead, would have halted or aborted the intense inner process I was involved in.

However, I also think I got lucky and the fact that I was at my mid-life transition -- as opposed to the transition from adolescence to adulthood (the time of life when psychosis is most likely to invade the structures of the conscious ego) -- I believe, this too, rendered me fortunate. I do see the value in seeking out professional assistance but where I would recommend a Jungian, mainstream thought recommends forced hospitalization, restraints and anti-psychotics. If a person is fortunate enough to live in a city/community that actually offers Jungian trained analysts/therapists they will likely find they cannot afford to pay for them out of pocket as "talk-therapy" is believed to be redundant for those whose brains are broken.

My own experience was close to a decade ago. I have never been hospitalized, never been medicated, never received formal therapy. I do believe I got lucky in many ways but I also believe my lack of formal treatment was fortuitous. It has not been quite as fortuitous for one of my children who has since been diagnosed with schizoaffective/bipolar disorder. They are still crafting their own best recovery.

Thank you for your article Dr. Diamond. I will share it with others, including many who are hungry for Jungian-based treatment but their only recourse is to do it themselves.

"Even for someone like Jung, however, this (psychosis)was an extremely dangerous state of mind and perilous journey that could have just as easily led to tragedy. This is why I strongly recommend that anyone going through such an extraordinary subjective experience seek professional help as early as possible."

I think your first sentence is absolutely correct, but I must take issue with the second.

To understand my problem with it, consider the case of a man standing on the deck of a sinking ship, looking for a lifeboat in the water. There are none; other survivors have taken the lifeboats and have rowed away. The man's choice is to die or to jump in the water. You, looking on from a safe distance, want to tell him not to jump, because there are sharks in the water. Jumping would be a perilous act that could easily lead to tragedy. A lifeboat is the only safe way to leave.

So where is the lifeboat, the professional help that can see one safely through this perilous journey of psychosis? (I truly dislike calling it that, but it's the only label I know of that conveys the gravity of the situation.)

Very few people, I think, plan to have a psychosis, and have time to search out a proper therapist. Most likely the afflicted individual would soon end up before a biologically oriented psychiatrist who has but two remedies in his medicine bag: hospitalization and drugs. Talk therapy, if any, would have to wait until these two sovereign remedies pacify the patient and at least partially restore his wits, or at least quiet his complaints. After a few Haldol injections and seclusion, most patients progress to this point.

If you read my story of the young woman (who was, of course, myself many years ago) faced with a sudden psychosis, you may remember that she struggled with the problem of how to cope with it.

She did what you would have recommended and went to a psychiatrist -- the only one available in her small community -- where she soon realized that the mere act of talking to him was bringing her perilously close to complete demoralization and hospitalization. He understood nothing of her need to have a wise guide like Dante's Virgil who could helpfully accompany her through her personal hell.

At this point, she saw herself faced with two choices: talking, institutionalization and lifelong stigma, or keeping her mouth shut and depending on Jung's example and advice. In other words, either staying on a sinking ship, or jumping into the dangerous untested water. (There was one other choice -- suicide -- but for the sake of her children she rejected it.)

My experience more or less the same. Thank you for making the comment for me! I found that most psychiatrists don't even know who Jung is. And they told me directly that the only thing that worked was drugs and that I had to take them, and if I didnt I wasn't getting out. And my requests for alternatives were denied. They said even if talk therapy worked, it would be too time intensive and too expensive.

It is drugs and incarceration and disabling you that they are really interested in. You made an eloquent case for a more humane system!